Art of Seeking

developments across the board

If my life gets any more interesting, I’ll be a great case study soon. But until then, I’m rather enjoying the oddness.

First, I’ve found out that my intermediate belly dance class will be performing in the first two weeks of March. The choreography is awesome, and the music is everything I’d hoped for. It starts out sounding really tribal, then this heavy bass kicks in… hell yeah. My teacher Natalie is a sweetheart AND a good teacher. Very patient.

Then, there’s the explanation for this picture:

(That’s me in my funny hat on the djembe and Matt on didgeridoo, Angela on violin, Glen on djembe/ banjo, and that one guy I just met on doumbek and effects pedals. No, the drum set wasn’t played and I have no idea what the skillet is for.)  Matt and I were asked if we wanted to perform with our friend’s band, Delphi Quorum, on Feb. 5. Sure, why not, an excuse to play music is an excuse to play music. This is an…. interesting musical experiment- some guy is using effects pedals (including a loop) on some odd sounding vocals and Matt’s didgeridoo. Then there’s a few djembes (including mine) and my Remo klong yaw that Matt is pretty good at using as a “talking drum” because it’s so out of tune.. I guess you have to hear it and know a little about tuning drums to understand why. But anyway, there’s a banjo and a violin as well. Yeah. Experimental. It’s fun, but I’m sure plenty of folks might see it is strange or just plain creepy.

So, I was at my acupuncture appointment getting jabbed when for some reason, in a conversation between me and Brent and Allie, it was mentioned that Brent knows an Incan Shaman. I’m about to start writing a research paper on medicines and hallucinogens in the ancient Andes, so it seemed quite serendipitous. He hasn’t seen her for a bit but says he’ll look her up for me. Meanwhile, I’m also doing a research paper on NAGPRA, and Ana just revealed to me that her best friend’s father is a Lakota Shaman. Perfect. And weird. But cool… I’ll be attempting to set up some interviews soon.

Meanwhile…

I’ll be doing a photo shoot this Sunday with a few models. It will hopefully involve a collection of antique tools, really colorful clothing, railroad tracks, possibly a raccoon skin coat, and a crumbling silo. Sounds like fun to me.

If you’re not calling your favorite legal drug dealer (i.e. psychiatrist) for some Prozac on my behalf yet, it’s only because you know me well enough. I guess. Thanks.

I’m making some Pozole and hoping the damn hominy is done before the cornbread is. I need to get to sleep soon… long day tomorrow…

Oh, yeah. The top picture is my friend and tattoo artist Randal, playing a variation of chess invented by our friend Kurray and some other guys. Possibly including Randal. Matt helped make the board a couple years ago. The board they’re playing on has elevated squares in a roughly pyramid shape, and the corners are decorated each with tropical island, Antarctic, desert, and jungle scenes. No idea how it’s played. I always lose chess. And Hearts. And Gin. And… well, everything but scrabble and connect four.

Back to the “grind…”

New Year’s revelry

I’ve been doing my best to relax after last night’s revelry and this morning’s hangover. Me and the girls were making lunch when I couldn’t help but notice a rather large spider hanging from its invisible web, inches from Mekare’s head. I grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back. She thought I was mad at her or she had done something wrong- until I pointed at the spider.
I’m sure her blood- curdling scream was heard as far as two blocks away.

I heard some of the most ridiculous things all year (har har) at the party last night. There is one particular moron whom I personally can’t stand who spent the evening making scenes and irritating the hell out of everyone. One guy, who had been on the verge of kicking his ass, finally told him, “Okay, I’m just going to enjoy watching idiots like you do idiotic things.” “Yeah!” said the moron, and high- fived him. Then as he began to walk away, he stopped. “Wait a minute… I’m not an idiot! I’m NOT an idiot!!”

He wasn’t done yet. My friend Glenn, in an effort to keep him from bugging anyone else, challenged him to punch him in the gut. Moron gave him a couple of good swings, but neither was effective on Glen’s solid stomach. “Yeah, that was a good try,” said Glen, and kicked him in the shin. It dropped moron like a rock, and I couldn’t stop laughing.

It was getting late. Matt was asleep in my lap, and I was starting to doze. Then I overheard a drunken conversation between moron and a friend of mine. It went something like this:

Moron: “Yeah, I don’t talk to you much because I kind of hate you ’cause you’re kind of a bitch.”

My friend: “Why are you being so damn rude? You’re a douche.”

Moron: “Why do you think I’m a douche?”

my friend: “Because you just called me a bitch and told me you hate me!”

Moron, “I just said that ’cause I like how you look when you’re mad. I’d really like to take you out to dinner…”

At this point, I expected someone to slap the shit out of him, but everyone just fell over laughing.

Thankfully said moron doesn’t hang around with my friends very often, but whenever I see him, I cringe.
There were a few people there I didn’t expect to see at all- my ex boyfriend, Daniel, whose current hair makes him look a bit like Vladamir Putin:

…and my friends Ric, Adra, and Karen whose pictures I also took but my internet connection had issues uploading. Thankfully, I got some great pictures of the band, Napoq, and Glen, who opened for them with a solo bass show:

And here are some random pics of good times last night. Happy 2009, everyone.

old dog vs. new tricks

So I wanna play the drums. I already play hand drums, in fact I have nine of them. I have half a drum set in storage- bass, snare, couple of toms. But I find myself desperately in need of a high hat.
My teacher is a longtime friend of Matt’s and a pretty cool guy. I asked him to teach me since he’s the only drummer I know who isn’t A. a drunk/ addict, B. a pervert, C. hates teaching, or D. married with a jealous wife who hates me for no reason except that I’m female and not in her clique and know her husband, or E. all of the above. Brian is a great platonic friend, a damn good drummer, and most importantly, won’t charge me.

Today was my first formal lesson. I’d thought my left hand was going to give me the most trouble, but was rather surprised when it was my right foot (pictured) who refused to cooperate. This bugged me for quite some time until I figured out what the problem was. First, I had to take off my shoes- apparently I can’t drum in clogs- then I had to reorganize my thinking.
I began to see my brain as kind of a teacher, and my appendages as different types of students. Obviously my right hand is my star pupil, and does what I tell it to, unless it’s goofing off with the others. My left foot seems stubborn and unwilling at first, then I start to believe it must have a learning disability. So I concentrate solely (haha) on it and am thrilled when it starts to get the hang of things just a little- then I realize that the problem is that my muscles aren’t used to moving in that particular way. The solution (special disability equipment)- I will wear my clodhoppers with the giant heavy soles next time.
Then there’s my left hand, which I’d assumed would give me the most trouble. In reality it’s turned out to be the class clown. It messes around and doesn’t always do what I want it to, and starts cracking stupid jokes just when I think I’ve got the class under control.
My left foot is the new student that I’m told will be joining the class in a few weeks, and I already know it has severe behavioral problems.

Thankfully, my teacher is patient, and even leaves me alone, goes in the next room, and plays music while he does things around the house while I sit in an otherwise quiet room and bang on things. He’s genuinely happy to have me for a student and can’t wait til he can really be proud of me. I’m not planning on being a disappointment.
My progress promises to be… interesting. But really, I’m stoked. I love drums, and I’m willing to spend time getting this down. I might never be like Danny Kerry, but that’s okay, as long as I can play a 6-8 and learn to be more coordinated while having the time of my life.

Attack of the Fluff Bunnies

Matt and I and our friend Steve were told there was a drum circle in Payson. We’re always up for a drum circle (extenuating circumstances aside), so off we went.
Matt wanted to smoke before we went in. We watched people walking into the house and I said, “I don’t know, you guys… they look like normals.” But we aren’t the types to judge books by their covers- that would be hypocritical- so we went in.

There were two very large, gorgeous drums- Native American- style drums. Other than that we were the only ones who brought drums and didges, excepting the fancy didge hung on the wall. “Oh, put those in the kitchen,” we were told. “We’re about to start the meditation.

O…k… we hadn’t known things were to be so formal, but did as we were told.

It was one of those guided, visualization techniques; a meditation- in- a- box, just add soft mushy brains. I’d been talked into this before so I just went along.

I don’t know why the breathing always has to be so loud and confirmational- I know there’s something about the exhalation that has to do with release, in Yoga, anyway, but I can inhale and exhale deeply AND quietly without everyone else in the room having to hear it.

It started off sounding like an okay meditation, particularly because my mind typically ignores the guiding voice and follows its own guides. But pretty soon things took a turn for the weird and kept falling downward in that direction. The first weird thing was that it involved being a kid at the fair. Um, what? The fair?? That’s not… exactly… something meditational. “You begin to jump up and down with glee as you remember all the fun times you had with your family there,” the soothing voice crooned. (Both Steve and I related on the ride home that neither of us EVER had fun at the fair as kids if we got to go at ALL.) The meditation went on to sampling cotton candy and candy apples. In my mind they’re right up there with arsenic and belladonna as general poisons. Oh, and here come the Angels! They’re the ones running the carny games. I don’t know about you, but most of the carnies I’ve ever seen look like fleas with tattoos, not angels.

There were rubber duckies with messages about how you’re so loved, a balloon ride having to do with “vibrations” and, this was the clincher for Most Idiotic Meditation Ever- a unicorn. It was bad enough that there even WAS a unicorn, but this one’s name was- get this shit- Bill.

The soothing voice never changed tone. “The unicorn walks up to you. ‘Hello,’ he says, ‘My name is Bill. Would you like to stroke my mane? I like it when people stroke my mane.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. It’s a good thing the room was dark. Matt told me later that it was all he could do not to lean over to Steve and say in a soft but audible tone (voice imitating that of Butthead), “She said ’stroke.’”

Ah, perhaps we’d have more fun if we weren’t so damn polite around people we don’t know.

The drum circle was a farce. Everyone pretty much watched while the three of us played, and when they joined in, it was just chaos. I’d always thought it was just the drunks who decided that if you want to play but can’t keep a beat or even count to four with even pauses between the numbers, just play really REALLY loud. But now I know there are plain old amateurs who do the same thing.

They were nice enough people, but extremely “fluffy,” as we say in the world of Pagans. Not just “I like sparkly stuff and I have three guardian cherub- angels” fluffy, but “Hello Kitty fluffy,” as Steve put it. And perhaps a mite confused. One was wearing around her neck a pentacle, a star of David, an Ohm symbol, AND a crystal. I know what being eclectic is, but a lot of people just seem to get lost and can’t figure out which way to go because they’re trying to go in several directions at once.

When it came down to it, they seemed- nice enough, mind you- but quite arrogant about their fluffiness and seemed to be defying us as Not Like Them. I actually take allergy medicine instead of getting polarity release treatments! How backwards of me.

Nothing like an out- of- culture experience to show us who we really are, is there? Usually, Wiccans, even fluffy ones, don’t bug me much. But the people there seemed so ridiclously delusional that I couldn’t carry on a decent conversation with any of them. I tried.

It reminded me a lot of the bible studies my mom went to when I was a kid, only Wiccan and without the Bible and church songs. I was pretty uncomfortable the whole time. I’m more comfortable talking to Buddhists, Mormons and Catholics. They might be based on organized religions, but at least they know where they stand.

So do I, and it’s nowhere near any of them.